


Little Wolves

by SecondhandStockholm



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Discussion of Abortion, Gen, Protective Siblings, Sadness, Slightly OOC characters, because I need her for plot reasons, because i like hugs, but ONLY so they can give sansa hugs, everyone is giving hugs, jon doesn't send melisandre away, mentions of rape/non-con, petyr is a creepy asshole, protective big brother!Jon Snow, ramsay is an asshole from beyond the grave, stark power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondhandStockholm/pseuds/SecondhandStockholm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he died, Ramsay left Sansa with more than nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ashes to Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This was just going through my head throughout the last few episodes of Game of Thrones, and I knew it wasn't gonna happen in the show, but I just kept thinking how Jon and Sansa would deal with her getting pregnant from Ramsay, because you know, they can only be happy for so long.

Sansa can still remember Ramsay's last words to her. 

“That's all right.” He had grinned, blood spilling down his chin, “You can't kill me, I'm part of you now.” His eyes flicked quickly down to her midsection and back up again to meet her eyes, so quickly Sansa wasn't sure she had seen correctly. 

Sansa had quickly proven his first statement wrong, staring coldly on as the bastard's loyal-no, once loyal, now starving-hounds ripped off his miserable face, swallowing down a bout of nausea that had bubbled up slowly, nausea she assured herself was due to a mixture of excitement and sadness, for the day had been quite long, and she wanted nothing more than to take a bath and go to sleep, finally home. 

She turned away as the scene got particularly gruesome, nausea abated, face slowly turning to a frown, unable to shake Ramsay's words from her mind. 

~

The next morning, she awoke to a burning feeling in the back of her throat. She threw off the covers on her mother and father's-no, her bed now. The night before, Jon had insisted that Sansa take the master chambers, and Sansa, too exhausted with the day's events to argue, had simply nodded, giving Jon a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, before retiring to bed. 

She stumbled over to the chamberpot and stuck her head gracelessly in, heaving up what little she had been able to eat the night before. Her flaming hair fanned out haphazardly around her, a few tendrils plastered to her sweat-slicked forehead. When she was finished, she sat back on her knees, chest rising up and down, trying to regain her breath. A thought slowly crept into her mind, a thought she was quick to banish lest she be sick again. She slowly got up and changed into the only other outfit she had brought with her, ignoring the way it seemed to fit tighter around her abdomen, and headed downstairs to the dining chamber. 

Sitting at the only table currently in the room was Jon, a bowl of half-eaten porridge sitting forgotten in front of him, in quiet conversation with Ser Davos, who looked up when she entered, smiled kindly at her, and stood up to offer her a seat, which she took with a quiet “thank you”. 

She sat quietly as Davos and Jon finished their conversation, and watched as Davos stood up to leave, nodding at Sansa as he left. 

When he was gone, Jon turned to Sansa, a fond smile on his face. “How are you, Sansa? You look a little pale.” Jon's eyes were kind, but concerned. 

Sansa debated her response. She could lie and tell him she was fine, but hadn't they just had a conversation where they agreed they needed to trust each other? She resigned herself to telling her brother the truth. 

“I was...sick this morning. I am feeling fine now, though.” She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes, as she considered why she would have been sick. She might have eaten something foul, she knew battlefield rations weren't exactly lemon cakes, or it could be nerves at being home again. Deeper down, another thought insisted on being heard, a far less pleasant thought. Ramsay's words pierced her mind again. 'I'm part of you now.' A knowing smile plastered on his face. Had she imagined that face? Surely she must have, Ramsay was a master at toying with peoples' minds, surely he was doing exactly that to Sansa. 

Jon frowned, and put his hand gently on Sansa's, seeing how upset her face had gotten while she was lost in thought. 

“Maybe you should go to...” To who? All of the Boltons' staff had been killed or had run away, there were little to no servants left in the castle, least of all a Maester. Jon wracked his brain trying to think of anyone in the castle who could help Sansa. 

“I assure you, Jon, I'm fine. Now then, I'm starving, if you aren't going to finish that...” And with that, the conversation was over, and Sansa leaned across the table to snatch the bowl of porridge from Jon, who smiled and shook his head in amusement. The old Sansa would have never done anything like that, anything that undignified. His thoughts quickly turned negative as he thought of what she had gone through that had caused such a change in her, but he willed the thoughts away, glad to have his sister back. 

~

Two days later, the nausea had not left, and Sansa knew what was happening to her body. What he had done to her body. Jon, thankfully, hadn't noticed, too busy with negotiations and all the duties Lord of Winterfell entails. 

Still, she seeked out Melisandre, who greeted her with a kind smile, a smile that quickly vanished and turned into a knowing look when Sansa asked her to examine her. Though she was not a Maester, Sansa knew she would have some experience with the medical field-she did bring Jon back to life, after all. Plus, she was the only woman around for Sansa to talk to, and, if this examination confirmed what she feared, Sansa expected she would need her counsel. 

The examination went quickly, and soon she was met with a long silence as Melisandre looked like she was debating whether or not to give Sansa a hug. Sansa wasn't stupid, she knew what that meant.

“When am I due?” She asked, unable to keep her voice from shaking. 

“About six months.” Was Melisandre's gentle response. She didn't ask who the father was. Sansa had only ever been with one man, and Melisandre thought it best not to mention him to Sansa.

She continued to tell Sansa all about keeping a baby healthy, and most of it went over Sansa's head. It was one thing to know, and something completely different to hear it from someone else. Finally Melisandre's lecture stopped, and she fixed Sansa with a pensive look. 

“Are you going to tell Jon?” She asked gently, as if Sansa were a frightened deer. 

It was all Sansa could do to nod. 

~

Later that evening at dinner, Sansa found, was the perfect time to tell him, if only because her body seemed to betray her. The table wasn't full, by any means, but after spending many meals close to alone, with only Ramsay for company, she welcomed all who was there. Tormund, Jon and Davos were in conversation while Melisandre sat off to the side, quietly observing the scene. Sansa had just taken another bite of the stew when a familiar feeling rolled in her stomach. She dropped her spoon and stood up abruptly, causing her chair to scrape on the stone floor. All eyes turned to her, and with all her strength she mustered up a feeble “Excuse me...” before she hurried out of the room, hoping to make it to a chamberpot, but she didn't make it past the hallway before she doubled over, her hand on her cramping stomach, and heaved up her dinner. When she stood up and wiped off her mouth, she took a few minutes to compose herself before she returned to the dining hall. Jon was half out of his seat, and looked anxious to rush to Sansa's aid, and with a pang of gratitude she realized Melisandre must have stopped him from running after her. She shot her a grateful look, and Melisandre nodded discretely back, a faint glimpse of pity in her eyes. 

Sansa resumed her spot at the table, and realized with a sigh that everyone was still staring at her, all conversation halted. She plastered on her best fake smile, and took a deep breath.

“My apologies, I must have eaten something that did not agree with me. I suppose my body is not yet accustomed to food this rich.” 

Davos and Tormund seemed to accept that excuse, and turned back to their conversation, although Jon kept his gaze on Sansa. 

Sansa tried to keep her face impartial, but tears very quickly gathered in her eyes, and it suddenly hit her-she was having Ramsay Bolton's baby. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and Melisandre was quick to excuse herself, and when Sansa looked up from her lap, she noticed Melisandre had somehow gotten Tormund and Davos out of the room as well, and it was just her and Jon. 

He stood up, walking towards her, with gentle concern in his eyes. “Sansa?” He asked, and just like that, Sansa's resolve crumbled. Her shoulders shook as she dissolved into tears, and Jon quickly wrapped her up in a hug, smoothing down her hair with his hand. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” Sansa repeated, gasping between sobs, feeling terrified but safe in her brother's arms. 

He held her like that for a long time, until eventually she calmed down, and she found herself sitting next to Jon by the fireplace, a blanket around her shoulders and a mug of something in her hands. She kept her gaze low, embarrassed by her weakness. She tried to think of some way to tell him, because by now he must have gotten suspicious. Her brother was a bit naive, but he was by no means stupid, and it couldn't continue like this for long, soon enough Jon would figure it out himself.

The silence was broken by Jon, who spoke with a saddened tone. “You're pregnant, aren't you?”

Sansa looked up, finding it hard to meet Jon's eyes, afraid of what she might see. Jon knew what Ramsay had done to her, he knew what her pregnancy meant; they had finally gotten rid of the Boltons and here she was going to burden them with another.

She finally reached his eyes, but saw no anger, only compassion and pity. She bit her lip, tears gathering in her eyes, and nodded, looking back down to her lap again. 

“Hey,” Jon's tone was gentle, as he slid down to one knee in front of Sansa, taking both her cold, shaking hands in his. She looked up at him, her cheeks bright red.

“I'm sorry.” Her voice shook.

“Don't you dare apologize, this is not your fault. What that monster did to you was out of your control, and you beat him. You are Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and you will not be defeated by this. I'll be here for you, every step of the way.”

Sansa released a shaky breath, and hugged Jon so fiercely he couldn't breathe, but he wrapped his arms around her again, knowing she was looking for someone to anchor herself to. 

He whispered in her ear, “This isn't a Bolton baby, do you hear me? This is a Stark baby, and it will grow up strong and brave, just like its mother.” 

And Sansa desperately wanted to believe that.


	2. Dust to Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda short but it's late and I'm leaving for vacation early tomorrow, so I wanted to get this out before I left. 
> 
> This is definitely not the first fic I've written, nor is it the longest (yet) but I really plan to push myself and make this a respectable length. I don't know how long that will take or how soon I'll update, but your support means everything. Thanks for taking the time to read my story!

Sansa found sleep quickly that night, exhausted by the day's events, but she could not stay asleep for long. She awoke with a gasp, and furiously wiped away tears that gathered in her eyes. She willed herself to be strong, and after a few minutes, her breathing returned to normal. She waited for the pang of nausea that she had familiarized with recently, but it did not come. Shaking, she lowered herself back down, thinking back to the horrible dream she had just had.

~  
Sansa gasped and trembled, hot tears falling down her face, as her husband took her roughly, the only way he knew how, arms held above her, wrists grabbed so tightly they would surely bruise. She shivered as she felt his hot breath ghost across her jaw and up to her ear. 

“I'm part of you now”, it whispered, and she felt one hand slowly trail down to her stomach, and grasp it possessively.   
~

Sighing, Sansa rolled over in bed, knowing sleep would not come to her this night. She spent the rest of the night thinking about how to tell the news of her pregnancy to the few people she had in her life that she cared about any more. Tormund and Davos, she supposed, only because Jon seemed to trust them and if he trusted them then she would, too. 

She didn't really care about anyone other than Jon, and her other siblings, but she didn't know that they were even alive, let alone where they were. Her mind drifted to the image of Rickon's lifeless body, limp on a cold battlefield, arrows protruding from his little, broken body. 

A sob wrenched its way out of her throat, and her stomach rolled again, this time it did not go away, and she sat up and rushed to the chamberpot, the smell of vomit mixing with the salty smell of tears as she thought of Rickon, and Robb, and her mother and father, and despite having another being growing inside of her, Sansa had never felt so alone. 

~

The next morning she took a walk, the snow beneath her feet a familiar feeling, and wandered around her home, relieved beyond measure to be back. A deep sadness filled her as she realized it would never be the same as it once was, she would never be with her family, whole and happy. Sansa wondered if she would ever truly be happy again.

Noticing a change in her surroundings, Sansa looked up, realizing she had wandered into the godswood. The familiar old tree that she had not seen in so long looked the same as it always had. She smiled, content with the knowledge that not everything had changed. 

“I could help you, you know.” She started, turning to see Littlefinger leaning against a tree, the same smirk on his face that he always wore. She thought back to the day she told him everything that Ramsay had done to her, unflinching and cold, so very Stark. That had been the only time he had looked truly chastised. Before then, Sansa had wondered if Littlefinger was capable of feeling remorse. She still wasn't entirely sure.

“I don't need your help.” Sansa said, voice cold. 

Littlefinger pushed away from the tree and started towards Sansa, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. 

“Sure, you don't need my help right at this moment, but what about in a few months' time? Those clothes won't fit you for very long.” 

Sansa could feel her heart rate increasing, her breaths coming out unsteady as she tried to stop tears from escaping. She couldn't cry, not around him. Of course he would know, that was all he did, know.

“You did enough.”

“Come now, Sansa, I know your brother can be abrasive but I always thought you were smarter than him. I can help you, I can give you what you need, I can make this so much easier for you.”

“And what do you ask in return?” Sansa fought to keep her voice from trembling. 

Littlefinger stepped closer, close enough to touch Sansa. Sansa was immensely relived he didn't. 

“You know what I ask.” 

She remembered the first time he kissed her, how shocked she had been. At the time, she was worried that if she turned him away, he would cease his efforts to help her. She had been so desperate to leave King's Landing, to escape Joffrey and Cersei. She could not imagine a greater evil at the time. How naïve she had been, she thought bitterly. 

Littlefinger's gloved hands found Sansa's, and he grabbed her hands gently. “Let me help you.” 

Sansa pulled her hands out of his grasp, looking at him with as cold an expression as she could manage, though she suspected the hurt bled through. 

She could not find any words to express how she felt, and she didn't want to be around Petyr Baelish any longer. She turned to leave, his proposal still hanging in the air. She was halfway out of the woods when his words stopped her.

“That child is going to be a bastard, you realize.” 

Taking a deep breath, Sansa continued, leaving Petyr with one last remark.

“Bastards are capable of far more than you realize, Littlefinger.”


	3. Blessing in Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa was finally started to accept what was happening to her. Until an innocent comment from Davos sends her into a spiral of panic. Who's left to talk her off the ledge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn, this took me a while to update. 7 months, to be exact. 7 months 9 days to be exact-er. Sorry.
> 
> But here it is! I haven't given up on this story! This chapter is kinda short because I started it not knowing where the plot was exactly going but I've got an idea now so the next chapter will be out sooner than this one, haha. Oops.

The next morning when Sansa showed up to breakfast, the first thing she did was gauge the room to see if the air felt any different. Neither Tormund nor Davos looked at her strangely so she felt it safe to assume Jon didn't tell them of her condition. In fact, they were so engaged in a conversation they didn't spare her a glance when she arrive. Jon's eyes, however, she felt on her as soon as she entered, and she smiled and sat next to him. 

“How are you feeling?” Jon murmured to her, quiet enough to not be picked up by the other inhabitants of the room. 

Sansa managed another smile, a grim smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I'm fine.” She truly did feel fine, at least at the moment. She had been admittedly not fine for a while, and even still she experienced moments of weakness, when the circumstances of her body would hit her and she would let out a sob, and take a few moments to remember how to breathe again. 

But for the time being, she would appreciate the peace. 

Sansa did not realize she had been silent for so long until she felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Jon offering her a reassuring smile. 

He was about to offer another comment- probably some kind reassurance that everything would be okay- when the conversation between Tormund and Davos got rowdy enough to be heard from where the two Stark siblings were sitting. 

It took Sansa a minute to decipher what they were talking about, but when she did, she flushed, feeling a sharp tug in her stomach. 

“I'm telling you, for all that Ramsay was a cunt, he sure knew how to get to people. Messin' with their heads. It's pure evil, sure, but there's a stroke of genius in there, too.” Tormund's voice cut through the air, Jon and Sansa now silently listening to the conversation.

“Well I'm just glad the little prick is gone now. Him and his entire damn lineage. Bastard or not, Ramsay was a Bolton, through and through. Miserable cunt just like his father. At least he's rotting in the ground and that's that. Can you imagine if he'd knocked up one of his whores? A little Bolton child runnin' around, pretending to stab people with a stick, evil just like his father-” 

He was interrupted by the scrape of a chair over stone, and Sansa numbly registered that she had stood up, and that everyone's eyes were on her, once again. She felt hot tears falling down her face, and with a stab of shame, glanced at Jon. He had obviously picked up on why she was upset, and his eyes quickly flicked down to her midsection before meeting her face, and she immediately recognized the pity. 

“What's the matter, beautiful?” Tormund's voice cut through the silence. 

Sansa quickly looked at the three men in the room- Tormund confused, Jon concerned, Davos confused and concerned, and felt overwhelmed.

“I-I'm sorry.” She choked out before rushing out of the room. 

“Sansa wait-” she heard Jon say as she ran out, desperate to find Melisandre and rid herself of this problem once and for all. 

Why hadn't she done this before? This was the only way this could end. She just wouldn't accept it any sooner because she was weak, always had been-

She only realized she reached Melisandre's room when she almost ran head-first into the door. She knocked, trying to tamper down the tears, and was soon met with Melisandre's concerned look. 

“Come in, my dear, come in. What is troubling you? Is it the baby?” She asked, ushering Sansa inside.

“Yes.” Sansa said, voice hoarse. “I need it out of me. This was a mistake, I can't have Ramsay's baby, I just can't. I should have asked you to do this as soon as I found out, I know there's still time, mother explained it to me once, I know how it works-”

“Slow down my dear, you are going to hurt yourself. Now, take a deep breath. That's it.” Melisandre calmly coached Sansa through breathing until her heart rate was back to normal and then gently sat her down on her bed. 

“Alright, now. I understand this is difficult for you, Sansa. What that man did to you was monstrous, and he will be punished. But what happens to you, now, is beyond his control. He is no longer on this Earth, he has no bearings over you. This child growing inside you is yours and yours alone. If you truly do not want this baby, I will support your decision and do my duty as asked of me. But know that this child's destiny is not determined by its father's blood. It is determined by its mothers.” 

Sansa swallowed, the words registering in her brain, and she nodded. She stood up and smiled at Melisandre.

“Thank you, I know I was being irrational. I'll think about it, about whether or not this is what I want. I'll let you know by the end of the week.” 

As Melisandre showed her out, she stopped at the door, squeezing Sansa's hands and offering her one last comment. 

“Soon you will see that the Lord of Light has given you a blessing, not a curse.”


	4. With a Little Help from My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I suck at updating.
> 
> Season 7 huh? What a wild ride.

Jon found Sansa sitting on a fallen tree in the Godswood, hands resting in her lap and face down turned. He sat next to her silently, long enough that Sansa was starting to wonder if he intended to speak at all. 

"I'm sorry for what Ser Davos and Tormund said, they were just joking, they didn't know-"

"It's alright, Jon." Sansa interrupted, a hand on his. "I know they didn't mean anything by it. I just panicked, is all. I guess I'm not really adjusting to this." 

"What I said before is still true, you'll have my support through all of this, and everyone else's should you choose to tell them." 

Sanaa's eyes filled with tears. She gripped Jon's hand tight. "Thank you." She managed, voice shaking.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, both thinking. Sansa was the first to speak again. 

"They're right you know. About the baby."

"What about it?"

"That's it's as much Ramsay's as it is mine. A part of Ramsay will always remain, and I will have to watch this child grow up and take after its father." 

"You can't know that now, Sansa. This baby is also you, and you are kind and smart and brave. I see no reason this baby won't be exactly the same as its mother."

Sansa leaned into Jon, thanking whatever god might be out there that she and Jon had been reunited. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, kissing her on the side of the head. 

And there they sat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa took a deep breath, standing up from the center of the table. The few people she still trusted were in this room, and soon their view of her could change drastically. Her pride had been stripped away so many times she was surprised she had any left to worry about. She looked from Tormund and Davos, deep in conversation, to Brienne, and then to Melisandre, in the corner of the room. She glanced at Jon, who was sitting beside her. He gave a tiny nod, and a hand on hers, and she steeled herself. 

"If I could have your attention." 

The room quieted down, all eyes on her. 

"You are the only people left alive that I trust. I am telling you this because I feel it important that you know. As many of you know, I was Ramsay Bolton's wife. I don't have to tell you the kind of man Ramsay was, you all met him. I'm sure you don't have to imagine the kinds of things he did to me." 

She was met with silence, the attitude of the room somewhere between angry and uncomfortable. Sansa was just grateful there was no pity. Pity made her skin crawl. 

"What most of you don't know, is that Ramsay was smart. And methodical. When he realized his father had sired another child, this one through a legal marriage, he knew his claim to the Bolton legacy was in danger. He needed an heir. He had me." 

The mood shifted. Tormund shifted nervously. Ser Davos met Sansa's eyes, questioning. Brienne's hands clenched. 

"I'm pregnant. Ramsay is the father."

The room was silent once again, until Davos exploded out of his chair and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Sansa flinched, and Jon stood up to put a hand on her shoulder. 

"Don't worry about him, he'll come around." He murmured in her ear.

Sansa nodded and smiled a watery smile. She had just lost one of the last people she cared about forever, but Jon didn't need to see her self-pity. 

Sansa supposes forgiveness was too much to ask.


End file.
